Holding Hands
by alynwa
Summary: Liz asks Red about something she saw.


Liz and Mr. Kaplan were in the kitchen of Red's safe house in Costa Rica. The two of them along with Red and Dembe had arrived there the night before when Red had decided on the spur of the moment (or so Liz thought) that it was time to leave Maryland. She had learned after weeks on the run with him that he seemed to have a sixth sense about their pursuers and when they were closing in upon them. It wasn't always right (Mr. Vargas had fooled him, after all), but it was right often enough that she had learned to trust it. It was five o'clock in the evening and the only thing that reminded Lizzie that it was, in fact, December was that the sun was almost set. She looked up from the salad she was preparing with Mr. Kaplan to see Red and Dembe walking the grounds slowly, heads down and bodies close together. "I swear Red and Dembe are holding hands," she opined to Kate Kaplan, who at the moment was cutting tomatoes for the salad to go with the steaks Red had promised to grill.

Kate allowed herself a small smile. "They probably are," she said, "In Kenya, straight men walk down the street holding hands all the time. There is no sexual connotation; it just means they are close friends. It meant a lot to Dembe when he was a child to be able to hold Red's hand. Ask Red about it; he'll tell you."

"Oh, I couldn't! That's such a personal thing, Red would think I was prying into his relationship with Dembe."

"Believe me, Lizzie, when I tell you that you are one of the few people in this world who has complete access to Red's life. He will tell you anything you wish to know."

Liz didn't reply, but decided that if the opportunity presented itself, she would inquire. As promised, Red prepared the steaks. The entire meal was simple, but delicious. Besides Lizzie and Kate's salad and Red's steaks, Dembe had prepared a groundnut stew as an appetizer. The four of them ate in the screened – in gazebo amid lively conversation. When the meal was finished, Red produced a cigar.

As he attempted to light it, Kate said, "Oh, I can't stand the smell of those things! I'm going inside. Dembe, you want to play a few hands of cribbage?"

He glanced at Red and then nodded to Kate as he rose to follow her. Liz watched them go into the house before saying, "I swear there have been days when I haven't heard Dembe say a _word._ I think that's incredible."

Red succeeded with lighting his cigar and blew a smoke ring in triumph. "You know his backstory; I've told you how he came into my life. He learned early on to keep quiet and to keep his thoughts to himself lest he be beaten or punished in some other heinous way. He speaks to me all the time now, but it took time before he trusted me enough to do so." He smiled. "He likes you, Lizzie. Give him time, he'll open up to you."

It was her turn to smile. "I like him, too." She poured them each another glass of Pinot noir and sat back in her seat. She took a sip and listened to the sounds of the Costa Rican night. "It's so beautiful here." They sat in silence for a few minutes. "May I ask you something, Red?"

"Of course."

She sat forward and leaned toward him. "Kate and I were watching you and Dembe walking earlier and it looked to me like you were holding hands with Dembe."

"I was. That wasn't the first time."

"She said that straight men in Kenya hold the hands of their close male friends."

"They do."

"So, I take it you do it as it's part of Dembe's culture and that's awesome, but I'm a little surprised that I've never seen you do it before now."

Red flicked some ash into his ashtray. They were still sitting in the screened – in gazebo in which they had eaten dinner, safe from the mosquitoes and other insects attracted by the kerosene lamps they were using for light. "We don't do it in public, most of the time it's when it's just the two of us. It felt odd to me at first, but now I enjoy it."

"Do you remember the first time you held hands?"

"I do. Dembe had come to live with me in France. One of the first things I did was arrange for my doctor to come to the safe house to conduct a physical. He had never been to a doctor in his life! He refused to be examined until I promised to stay with him." He finished his wine and poured himself some more. "Poor kid; he was terrified. Every time the doctor did something invasive or intrusive, he looked at me and I had to reassure him that I would not allow the doctor to do anything improper."

Lizzie clucked in sympathy. "That had to be hard for him."

"It was. He was so malnourished at that point that only one vial of blood could be drawn. I wanted him tested for HIV among other things. I was given instructions for getting food and nutrition into him so that he would be able to have blood drawn three weeks later. When the doctor returned, as Dembe and I walked to my study where the doctor was waiting, he reached for me and took my hand. Like I said, it felt strange to be holding his hand, but I was happy that he trusted me. I'm not one to say 'I love you,' but holding hands with Dembe is…wonderful. He tells me things he tells no one else. Sometimes, we're walking like you saw tonight; sometimes, we're just sitting watching television or just talking."

Lizzie drained her glass. "That's so sweet," she opined as she stood and gathered plates, cutlery and glasses to take into the house. "Is that why you hold hands with me? Because it's easier than saying 'I love you?'"

Red quirked his lips in his "Red" way, stood up and picked up the empty wine bottle. "Let's go see who's winning at cribbage," he said as he headed toward the house.


End file.
